Blasphemy
by Ciara2
Summary: Sequel to "Jagged" . Buffy brings herself to call for Spike's help, a week after their talk.


Title

Title: Blasphemy.  
Sequel to "Jagged."  
Author: Me_Lizzie  
Email: vamp_lizzie@hotmail.com  
Summary: Sequel to "Jagged". Buffy brings herself to call for Spike's help, a week after their talk...  
Note: This song was written along to the song "Clumsy" by Our Lady Peace. I'm not saying this is a songfic, or anything... but for some *stupid* reason, I started crying (I don't cry. Never. Bah!) as I wrote this, whilst listening to my OLP CD.  
Ooo, Another Note: Thanks to all who gave feedback. Wooo-eee. That kinda feedback... was like... woah. And a couple people suggested "Going Further". I figure, why the hell not?  
  
*****

Ever since that night…  
  
She couldn't keep herself balanced. She'd keep thinking about the words Spike had left her with, and it would either send her on a depressive dive, or she'd suddenly become blissfully happy. Was this how Spike had reacted? Buffy never smiled…. Never. It felt blasphemous. But the muscles in her cheeks tugged a little every time she saw him… and she could see that, whilst it may not be visible to everyone else, they shared something. Did he get these manic highs as well? She hadn't talked to him alone since the night. Was he suddenly becoming both suicidal and strangely pleased at every other thought? She longed to ask, to make sure that he was still… he was still what he claimed to be.  
  
She wondered if these swings were really a result of her non-ability to "fit". She couldn't control them, and she didn't really want to. They were… natural. But, once in a while she would try to stop herself from feeling them… but she discovered that it only made her… emotionless.  
  
Cold. Hard.  
  
After a few weeks, she discovered that life seemed to be at a standstill. Checkmate, no one wins. Death hadn't called again, to claim her… but it was like Life was still on its way. Limbo, here on earth. Every time she got the dreading sense that she really was… Limbo-d… she felt an odd urge to go see Spike. But, well, she wasn't hopeless. She could get by without him. She was strong.  
  
She was getting colder.  
  
And every since that night….  
  
He was quiet. He stopped his quips. In fact, Spike couldn't remember the last time he'd insulted Xander, or made some seemingly "Homophobic" remark towards Willow or Tara. "Carpet-muncher" was a homophobic term? Bah… Spike never used it as such. In fact, he found it amusing when Xander had threatened to stake him when he'd called Willow a… oh, he forgot the term he'd used then. But Xander had accused him of being Anti-Gay. Obviously, Xander wasn't aware exactly of how experienced vampires can be. But that was completely beside the point.   
  
Spike was… he was changed. He could rarely make it through a day without his thoughts wandering to his conversation with Buffy. Every time he did… he couldn't control his being. He'd get completely upset over the fact that he'd been so stupid to go see her like that… or he'd rejoice that he'd seemingly finally broken through that… "Ice" between them.  
  
He wondered if she felt the same way. Then he shunned himself for daring to think that she… someone literally sent from the heavens… could possibly acknowledge him. He'd thought about it… she hadn't even responded when he talked to… well, more "at" her… which meant he had done something wrong. She hadn't said, "Thanks" or "I understand" or even "Spike… I love you"… nothing he had been expecting. Then again, what had he been expecting? Did he really believe that she… she would ever stand in front of him and say "I Love You" with a deeper sincerity… he tried to picture the situation. It wouldn't play.   
  
Ever since that night…  
  
He'd been cold, again.  
  
"Spike?"   
  
The name felt odd on Buffy's lips. Spike. Kind of like… Pike. Or … Like. She tried not to obsess about it, but she found herself using the smallest thing to distract herself from the jaggedness. Spike. It was an odd name… but… it stood for everything she detested about him. Violence, cold, ruthless… descriptive words. "Spike". A tool used in the torturing of innocents.   
  
She despised him for his name. For his cold… and his violence, and his ruthlessness. But the more she did so, the more she… she thought about him. Violence… whatever she found herself hating about him… she shared the tendencies. She was exactly what she accused him of being. But she tried not to think about that particular obstacle. Tried to distract herself. And… Spike. The name felt odd on her lips. She'd call him William.  
  
But only in her head.   
  
Spike emerged from the shadows and cast her a puzzled glance.  
  
"What… what are you doing here, luv?" he asked slowly.  
  
He expected her to shrug, and respond "What, a slayer can't patrol through the friendly vampire neighborhood and drop by Spike's crypt to visit her eternal love." Or maybe he expected her to punch in the nose. They'd he'd call her a murderous bitch… and everything would be right in the world.  
  
But this world wasn't right.  
  
"I'm here to see you." She said, with a bluntness to it. It wasn't an Anya-like bluntness. It was the normal kind. The "It's the truth." Bluntness.   
  
Spike expected something else.  
  
It occurred to him that he just had too many expectations. He expected Buffy to hate him, and then tell him she loved him. He expected her to punch him, and then caress the sores. He expected for everything to go back to normal within the next few days.  
  
Strange thing was, he never really expected his expectations to… come to pass.  
  
He was odd like that.  
  
And normally, he would have responded to Buffy's blunt comment with a "Well, I figured as much." But… he'd been quiet lately.   
  
He nodded.  
  
"I came to see you about last week." She elaborated. Spike admired her for not tripping on her words. Either she had gone over this conversation in her head or…she was just a hell of a lot better at talking then he was. He assumed option 2 was the correct one.  
  
"Why?" he asked, not unkindly. It was a, you know… "But, well… I appreciate this and all but…" kind of why. One he rarely used… primarily because of the lack of sarcasm behind it. Made him like a poof, or something. "Ooo, look at me. I'm understanding."  
  
He was still cold, he guessed.  
  
There was a soft silence between them, before Buffy finally spoke.  
  
"You're… I need to talk to you because… because I've been thinking too much about this, and I think it's driving me crazy."  
  
He tone was bitter. The strange thing was, Spike could tell the bitterness wasn't for him. It was for… the situation. The surroundings. He looked over at her, apprehensively. He was… he was slightly numb at the moment. Rarely was he numb. But… he felt as such by now.  
  
"If it's any indication, I can't really consider myself sane at the moment either." He muttered softly. Except… it wasn't really a mutter… it was sharp. His words pierced the air. Why did they do that? It'd always pissed him off that he could never go unheard… he was too… bold. Stupid him.  
  
"I need to ask you something."   
  
She approached him slowly. To him, she seemed a lot like the BuffyBot… to rigid, and lacking that spark he'd adored about her.  
  
"Anything."  
  
"What's it like to be cold?"   
  
He'd expected something different. "Why are you doing this to me?"… "Spike, do you really love me?"… Him and his expectations. Stupid, stupid expectations. But this question went as far as to shock him, or at least stump him. How could he explain how he felt? Coldness… wasn't really a feeling… it was more a way of thinking. At least, he'd always looked at it that way.   
  
Unless, of course, he was reading to deep into it, and she just wanted to borrow his jacket.  
  
"It's…."  
  
He stopped. Or rather, he couldn't start. Where was there to start? "Well, Buffy, my dear… coldness is… being cold… and… stuff…" Yeah. Sure. Not only look like an idiot, but like an illiterate one, too.   
  
Buffy could see the hesitation in his eyes. Did he not want to tell her? Was it secret? She'd told him her secrets. Was she not good enough for his? Or maybe he didn't know what to answer. He never did seem to have a way with explaining things. Or maybe she'd never given him the chance to do so.  
  
"…Not… easy." He managed to finish the sentence with hesitation. He almost wished Buffy would just say "Oh, well, if it's too hard to explain, don't bother." Or "Oh, screw it… Kiss me Spike!". Hey, he was Improving. A wish, not an expectation.  
  
He waited for her to tell him to stop. But she just hung on his words.  
  
"I'm… It's like being… being unsure of what to do. You want to… to run, and to hide and to do everything at once, because you don't want to be doing nothing… but you know that you can't. I know that I can't. So… you cover. You… you try not to… to do anything. Or you do everything… and you can't find that place where you used to be, like everything's moved and you got left behind…"  
  
At a point where he could barely find the words to start, he suddenly couldn't stop.  
  
"But… you adapt, and you try to force it back… and that's when you get cold. You start to… to not care. And it's the only way the harshness stops… cause everything is suddenly gray. Some say it's the lack of a soul that makes vampires evil, and ruthless and the likes. I've always assumed it's the gray. But… well… people tell me an exception…"  
  
At that point, it struck him that he should stop. Quit while he was ahead. He had explained, he had given his point of view; there was no reason to go into what he was about to stay. Buffy would not benefit from the telling of this tale, nor would he. They'd be better off without it ever leaving his mouth.  
  
"Angelus… Angelus once told me he didn't understand what the hell was wrong with me… he used to comment about how bloody sentimental I was. Mocking me for caring. Mocked me for noticing the expression on a human's face right before they died… Mocked me for not killing people who were totally unnecessary for a kill."  
  
He was bitter now. Bitter. He rarely was bitter.  
  
"Angelus was my reason for being cold." Spike pursed his lips, knowing he'd just done a thing that was… stupid. Stupid beyond all reason, and without a reasonable doubt, one of the stupidest things he'd done. As he stared at the ground, he expected that when he looked up, Buffy would be in tears, devastated at the mention of… "Her Angel".  
  
He looked up.  
  
She wasn't crying.  
  
Stupid expectations.  
  
"Angelus?" she asked. Looking him directly in the eye.  
  
"Yeah. Bloody hypocrite."  
  
There was silence. It wasn't really silence, though. More of a pause for thought. A pause. For thinking.   
  
"Spike…"   
  
Spike looked up hopefully. "Thanks."… "I love you"… expectations filling his head again.   
  
"I'm cold."  
  
These two words, uttered in total and bitter honesty stung him. Simply hearing them from her stung him, making him long to fly into action. Be her valiant white knight.  
  
Or… Did she want his jacket?  
  
"Don't be."  
  
"I try not to."  
  
"Try harder."  
  
"I can't."  
  
He wanted to yell at her. Maybe he wanted to embrace her. Part of him wanting to hit her. He stayed still, suppressing the urge to do something… anything.  
  
"I… I try to think. And I can't… and I think of you, and what you said, and I want to yell. Or I want to… to cry, and scream, and laugh and smile… but I can't do any of that, because it's… it's just not right. It's… it's…"  
  
"Blasphemous?"  
  
She looked at him, her face contorted in frustrated pain, as tears leaked from her eyes. The first emotion he'd seen on her face… since before he could care to remember. She nodded slowly, attempting to stop herself from crying. She couldn't.   
  
He just didn't feel like crying at that particular moment.  
  
In fact, he felt like laughing. He felt like smiling, and then giggling, then throwing his arms around her. Primarily, because he was talking to the slayer like an equal, like a friend, which in itself was… nice. Secondarily, because he had found, finally, that he wasn't crazy. Or at least, he was crazy, and so was she.  
  
"You… you don't even understand how… how hard it is to look at them, at the people I love and not break down in tears, or just laugh… laugh at… and… it's not fair…" she sobbed, as if the entire world was crashing around her.  
  
"Life isn't fair, I suppose." He offered hopefully.   
  
He was such an idiot.  
  
They both stepped forward at the same time, towards each other, and he caught her in his arms as she stumbled forward. He held her as her small figure convulsing madly with each sob, and he attempted to comfort her. He really wasn't very good at it. It didn't matter, anyway.  
  
She looked up at his eyes, her arms folded across her chest as he held his arms around her shoulders. He gave her room, as she stepped back.  
  
"This was stupid of me." She sniffed, using her hand to brush away tears.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
She laughed through her tears.  
  
It wasn't a snobbish laugh, or a selfish laugh, or even a "Make me!" type of laugh.  
  
It was a genuine "You make me laugh, Spike." Laugh.   
  
And part of him had expected it.   



End file.
